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The door whooshes open when John turns the handle, the wind blowing him inside with more force than he expected. He stops, looks around and waits a bit before stripping off the armour of his scarf and jacket. The man he's meeting catches sight of him and lifts an arm in an abortive wave. John smiles, hangs his things on one of the hooks by the door and walks over, deliberately slowing his pace and his breath. DI Lestr-no-Greg looks a bit nervous, slightly flushed and really just about perfect.
He lets his arms swing a bit as he approaches the table. Greg's already got a coffee in front of him and two open menus on the table. John slides into the bench opposite him and looks at the menu in front of him.
"Sorry I'm late. Sherlock." He knows that's all the explanation necessary and as excuses go, it's utterly bulletproof. It is, in fact, a lie. Sherlock's in one of his the-real-world-is-boring-so-I-will-spend-the-day-in-my-mind-palace-ignoring-everyone-and-everything-around-me states and didn't even notice when John came down the stairs carrying an overnight bag and walked out the front door right in front of him. John just wanted Lestr-Greg to spend a bit of time thinking about what he was about to do. And getting a bit wound up. Because John Watson is the nicest person you've ever met, but John Watson, Closet Dom, knows how to get the reactions he wants from his toys. He knows it's a bit not right, they're here for negotiations, after all and he shouldn't be trying to influence those in the direction he wants them to go, but god it's been so long and he wants this just slightly too much.
"I understand." Le-Greg smiles at him, and it's unarming and arresting and a bit too knowing and John remembers again that Sherlock puts up with this particular DI because he's marginally less stupid than 99% of the rest of the world, which puts him very much into the smart-as-a-whip-and-won't-be-fooled-by-out-of-practice-closet-doms category.
"Well, uh, shall we order then, eat first, talk later?" John asks.
"All right. If that's what you prefer." L-Greg's definitely smirking at him now as he answers. John's already getting ideas on what he's going to do to get rid of that smirk later. He can feel the colour rising in his cheeks as he looks down and studies the menu, looking for all the world as if he's deliberating between shepherd's pie and fish-n-chips, and not between ball gags and blindfolds. Both, he thinks, at least at the start, knock Greg completely off balance for a bit, then let him see what's going to happen to him, maybe make him watch in the mirror as John takes him apart. He shifts on the hard bench, adjusting himself, and watches Greg stare at the menu, clearly not seeing the fish-n-chips either.
"Or we could skip the food and go right to your place," John suggests, careful to keep his voice neutral. He doesn't want to influence Greg too much here. He really does want all this to be Greg's decision, under his control.
"I…uh…yeh…want that. But maybe a compromise? Coffee and then we go?" Greg looks eager and embarrassed and raises his still full cup. John's relieved, actually. They do need to talk things out a bit before two haven't-done-this-in-a-while friends (well, except for the other night with the BDSM club and the rope, but really, that had been completely unplanned, unexpected, and unrepeatable) take things to a private location and see just how compatible their kinks are.
"Sounds like a good idea. Let's talk about what you want to get out of this and what your limits are." John knew how odd that sounded, here in the pub, but he didn't want to slip and do something later that wasn't something Greg would be perfectly comfortable with. Well, perfectly comfortable was probably an overstatement, but he wanted to make Greg uncomfortable in exactly the ways that gave him what he needed.
"I...I'm...Well, I've never been too good at saying what I want. Much better at just taking it – whatever I get, really." Greg's gone just a bit red around the ears as he was saying this. John finds it inexplicably endearing, if frustrating.
"No wonder you get on with Sherlock, then. But that's not how we're doing things today. What do you want from me?"
"Whatever makes you happy, you're the top." Greg looks at his face and John can see the realization dawn. "That's not going to fly here, is it?"
"No. It isn't."
"Didn't think so. OK then." Greg takes a breath. "Gags. Ropes. Cuffs. Chains."
"That's a good start. Pain?"
"Er... sometimes?"
"What do you mean sometimes?"
"When I'm far enough gone it feels good, but pain won't get me there."
"OK, what does get you there? Do I have to fight you down every time or can you get there in a less violent way?"
"Not really sure, John. Don't think I need the fight so much as I need to believe you could. S'one reason why things never really went anywhere with Donna. But I've seen you in action. You're scary when you need to be." John knows he's not talking about the club the other night, but he thinks that was a good reminder.
Finally, he flags down the waitress and orders a tea for himself and another coffee for Greg. Greg starts to open up about what turns him on, what sends him down, where sex is on the scale of things he needs from a scene, and John's finally getting some real information from him, the kind he needs to make this work.
"OK, I've got some ideas for today. What's your safeword gesture for when I've got you bound and gagged and at my mercy?"
"Do I need one? I trust you."
"Yes, you bloody well need one, you imbecile. We play by my rules and my rules are that you have a way to put a stop to things if you need to." John wonders sometimes at the sanity of everyone he's close to these days. He fishes into his bag and rolls something jingly across the table to Greg. "How about this?"
"Is this a sleigh bell?" Greg asks as he fingers the silvery ball.
John smiles. "Actually it's a bear bell." John had, in fact, been given this very item by an American marine he met in Afghanistan who spent inordinately large amounts of time hiking in remote tundra wildernesses when he wasn't being extraordinarily good at his job of hitting very far away targets with lethal accuracy. It was a tool meant to warn the actual bears that he was coming and they'd better clear out. He'd looked amazing sprawled across John's bed, his arse whipped raw by his own belt and his own come drying across the sheets, bear bell still clutched tightly in his fist.
"So what does that make me?" Greg grins back at him.
"Mine for the evening." John signals the waitress and pays for both their drinks. He lets his hand rest against the small of Greg's back as they leave. Greg's face gets a bit red when John's hand slips lower and squeezes briefly.
***
Greg's in the middle of giving him the grand tour of his flat (significantly cleaner than John and Sherlock's; tiny kitchen, equally diminutive bedroom, but a decent size sitting room with comfy chairs and a nice sofa and telly. John figures that's where to start. He flops down unceremoniously into the chair with the best view of the telly, the one with the worn in cushion and soft throw rug over the back. He sets his bag down next to him and waves a hand at Greg.
"Stop there. Middle of the floor. Take your shirt off."
Greg stops, startled. "What, now? Here?"
"Yes, here, unless you'd rather take this to the front garden so the neighbours can watch too?" John waits for Greg to start unbuttoning his shirt.
"So now's the part where you test to see how far I'll go to get you to give me what I want?"
"No." John straightens his shoulders and adds some of the steel he learned in the army to his voice. "This is the part where you do exactly as I tell you for no other reason than because I told you to."
"That's it, then, no threats, just 'strip, Greg' and I do it?" Greg's bristling a bit and John knows this is a delicate moment.
"Yes. Do I really need to threaten?" John goes back to the mild voice and starts thumbing through the TV Guide from the side table. He looks up only when he hears the soft swish of Greg's shirt landing on the floor beside him. His shoulders are hunched and he's red again in the face.
"Good. Now shoes, socks, and trousers." This time, John fixes his gaze on Greg as he does as he's told. In a short time Greg's standing there in his pants, looking at John with a mixture of defiance, embarrassment, and need on his face.
John doesn't move from the chair. "Get on your knees."
Greg's still staring at him, defiance coming to the fore. He's also still standing.
"Now, Greg." John's not sure this is going to work, but if it doesn't he has a backup plan or two. He really hopes it does, though. They stare at each other for long seconds and finally Greg slowly slides down, never breaking eye contact. His right knee makes a popping sound when he reaches the floor.
John reaches into the bag and pulls out a set of leather cuffs. He tosses them at Greg one by one, until Greg's holding all four of them. "What am I supposed to do with these?" he asks, sounding petulant.
"What do you think? Put them on." Really, living with Sherlock has unexpected benefits in the area of sounding perfectly bored and condescending. John crosses his arms and stares, waiting. This is one of the moments that will define the rest of the night, maybe their entire dynamic from here. John's curious, too, waiting to see how hard he's going to have to work to get Greg down.
Greg's fingering one of the cuffs, its smooth and supple leather sliding across his palm. He looks at John, still making no move to put it on and asks John who it belonged to.
"They're mine," John admits. And they are his, one of the few possessions that have accompanied him through the years. He still remembers the shivery feeling when he picked them out and set them on the counter in the shop with the discreet sign. He remembers the grin on the face of the bloke ringing them up as John paid, Linda's hand a warm, possessive weight on the back of his neck. He slept in them that night, her body tangled comfortably with his. That was before they figured out that he was less a switch and more a dom-in-training. She didn't mind so much, but it definitely hadn't helped their relationship develop any long-term qualities. The last he'd heard of her, she lived in Seattle and occasionally gave workshops with some guy who made bondage rope. Still, since then, especially since Afghanistan, on really bad nights, he puts them on and they help, grounding him and giving him the illusion of protection. He hasn't had them out since moving in to 221B.
Greg's moving slowly, but he's doing it, slipping the first cuff around his left and buckling it on. The look he gives John is half defiance and half pleading. John can't resist it any longer; he gets up from the chair and stands in front of the kneeling Greg. He sinks down in front of him and pulls the leather tight around Greg's other wrist.
For a minute he stays there, holding Greg's leather-clad wrists, feeling the heat of his skin, the thudding of his pulse. He leans in and holds Greg close, inhaling the clean, masculine scent of his hair. Deliberately, he licks the sweat-salted skin along Greg's neck and ends with a bite at the hollow of his collarbone. Greg sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out with a small noise. John pulls back and grins.
"You look good wearing my leather. You'll look even better wearing my rope. Stay there. Don't move." John goes to his bag and pulls out two coils of his favourite rope, both black.
"Christ, yes. Whatever you want." Greg sounds nothing like the sceptic of a few minutes ago. John lets some of his worry go. This is going to be fun.
He shakes out the first coil and motions at Greg. "Stand up." He starts with a chest harness, relatively basic. Greg shivers nonetheless when John lays the first loop around his neck. Before he pulls the doubled ends up between Greg's legs, he drops the rope and smoothly pulls down Greg's pants, leaving them to pool around his ankles. He doesn't tell Greg to step out of them and Greg remains still. Good. Greg spreads his legs slightly when he feels the rope snug between them. John chuckles. He starts throwing the rope over and around Greg, building up the tie, letting the rope sing in his fingers, sometimes pulling Greg back hard against him as he tightens each loop. He's thorough and precise, doubling and tripling the columns around Greg's chest, his waist, his biceps. John makes sure nothing is twisted, not a strand out of place. The tension along the rope is even, not too tight, exactly what John wants. The tension along Greg's muscles, in his shoulders and lower back is starting to lessen. He playfully grabs at John with his as yet unbound hands. John had forgotten just how much fun this kind of play was.
"Don't worry, we'll get there soon enough. Patience is always rewarded." John says with a laugh as he uses the end of the rope to pull Greg over to the chair and smooths the throw from its back down on the carpet in front of it. He gestures at the soft wool. "Be my guest."
Greg goes down to his knees, easy this time with the rope grounding him and connecting him to John. "How do you want me?"
John pretends to consider for a moment. "Hmmm…Lay down, on your front. Let's try that and see how it works."
Greg balks and John knows it's time to exert some authority. "Greg, the time to fight back was before you were wearing my rope. Now is too late." He flips the rope ends around Greg's neck and pulls, just a bit. When the bight of rope tightens against his windpipe, he puts up his hands to stop it. Quick as a flash, John pulls a small padlock from his pocket where it's been since he first opened the bag. He lets Greg see it briefly before he locks Greg's wrists together at the small of his back with the padlock through the loops of the cuffs. Then he's on top of Greg, straddling him, using the constricting noose to control Greg down, down on his front, exactly where he wanted him. He releases the rope around Greg's neck and reaches calmly for the next coil, still sitting on him as Greg adjusts to this new reality.
"Just a few more minutes, then you can struggle all you want, Greg." A column tie around Greg's ankles, then he cinches them up, weaves the rope ends through the back of the harness and pulls. Greg's knees bend, his feet come up, and his back arches a bit. John rubs at the muscles at the small of it. "All right? Too much strain?" Greg wriggles around, moves his legs as much as he can and answers.
"No, I think it's ok."
John shakes his head and loosens the rope between Greg's bound feet and the back harness. The tension in Greg's back disappears.
"Now is not the time for you to be macho, Greg. You don't know how long you're going to stay this way."
"Sorry, John. Just, I'm not some delicate flower or anything. I can take it."
"I know you can, but taking it isn't really the point here. At least not yet. Let me explain what is going to happen. When I finish with this, I am going to sit in that nice comfortable chair with my tea and watch the news. When the news and my tea are finished, I will then decide what I'm going to do further to you. I do not want to have to end activities because you were too damn stubborn to admit that your back or your bad knee was acting up and I have to untie all my handiwork. Do you understand?"
"Err…no, not really. What do I do in the meanwhile?"
"What do you do? You remain quiet, which I never can get at home, and provide a place for me to set my feet."
"Wait, you want me to lie at your feet and wait while you ignore me?" Greg's back to bristling again. Such fun.
"No, I want you to lie under my feet. And wait until I decide I am ready. You may struggle if you want to. In fact, I encourage it. I don't think you'll be escaping your way out of these any time soon." John is finishing with Greg's legs, adding loops just above and below his knees, cinching them tight, stabilizing and immobilizing the bend in his knees. He adds the last rope along Greg's arms from biceps to wrists, pulling his elbows in towards each other and forcing his wrists apart as far as the padlocked cuffs will allow. He won't be able to reach the buckles on the cuffs from this position. He won't be able to reach the ropes around his legs from this position. He won't be able to find the elaborate knot between his shoulder blades that holds most of this together. John runs his hands over Greg, ostensibly checking the tightness of everything, but he knows he's got it all where he wants it. Tension enough to test Greg, to let him feel every coil keeping him restrained, not enough to damage. John gets two more items from the bag. One he shakes so that Greg can hear its merry jingle before placing it in Greg's hand. He closes Greg's fingers around it and Greg holds on tight to it.
"Anything you want to say, now is the time." John kneels in front of Greg, holding the last item in front of his eyes. The gag is mostly leather with a large, vaguely phallic rubber ball in the centre.
Greg gulps. "No. I think I'm good."
John holds out the gag and Greg obediently opens his mouth to accept it. John tightens the strap and rests his hand on Greg's head before he gets up. "Good boy." The words slip out unconsciously. He sits down in the chair and rests one booted foot heavily against the back of Greg's neck, the other on Greg's naked arse. He turns on BBC1 and leans a bit more weight against Greg's neatly trussed, hogtied form. Greg makes a muffled sound from behind the gag and starts to struggle. Any time he tries to rise, John pushes him back down with one or both feet. Eventually, Greg's struggles diminish and he's quiet, the bell still clutched tightly in his fingers. John lets him lay there a few more minutes before he comes down to the floor and works the ropes around Greg's legs free. John knows the sound from behind the gag is one of relief as Greg straightens his legs. John manhandles his up to a sitting position and Greg leans heavily against him. John pulls him up more until Greg is kneeling in front of him.
Greg leans forward and rubs his gagged mouth against the front of John's jeans. John runs a hand through Greg's hair and holds him close. Greg's still rubbing against him, practically purring, when an incongruous noise – a small scraping, as of a leather shoe against a wooden floor - startles John out of the moment. He looks up to see Sherlock, eyes wide, staring at them. John immediately tightens his fingers in Greg's hair; pulling his face close and not letting him look up. Greg grunts behind the gag and rubs his cheek against John's as yet unflagging erection.
John stares straight at Sherlock and mouths at him. "Get out. Now." His concern for Greg is overriding any surprise he might have felt at the (typical for Sherlock) unwanted intrusion. He has no idea what Sherlock is really seeing here, but something must effectively communicate to him that no only is he not wanted, but that his presence will most likely damage something beautiful and fragile in Greg's surrender. Sherlock nods once and silently withdraws. John takes a ragged breath he didn't quite know he was holding and pulls Greg's head up so that John can properly see his face. There's a thin stream of saliva trailing from Greg's lower lip and John rubs it with his thumb. He's clearly unaware of any unwanted intrusions and definitely not balking at John's orders anymore. He whines at the loss of contact and tries to push his face back against the damp outline of John's cock. John chuckles, low and dangerous.
"God, Greg, what am I going to do with you now? Leave the gag in and bend you over the arm of your chair so I can have a go at your arse? Get the gag out so I can fuck your mouth properly? Tie you with your legs spread and your arse up so I can take my time fucking you with a vibrator let you struggle as much as you want, filled at both ends while I just sit back and watch you take it?" He grabs Greg's jaw hard in his hand and wrenches his face up so that he's looking into John's eyes. Greg blinks up at him three times, slow and deliberate.
"Good. Go to the bedroom. Wait by the bed. I'll be right behind you," John says. He watches Greg struggle to his feet, balancing against his bound arms. "Did I tell you to stand?" he asks.
Greg sinks back down to his knees and awkwardly shuffles down the hall. His surrender to this is beautiful. John follows close behind, planning and anticipating, enjoying every second.